


The profit in wishing

by Handfulofdust



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Marriage Contracts, Marriage of Convenience, Pining, also a political campaign that mostly exists in one character's mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:40:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21675406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handfulofdust/pseuds/Handfulofdust
Summary: The man who has appointed himself Rafael's campaign manager thinks he should find a partner if he wants to win government office. He has no interest in anyone other than the person he made a joking marriage contract with years ago. He is also not running for public office.Or a weird attempt to add something to the Hopes and Tropes marriage pact collection
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 22
Kudos: 84
Collections: Hopes and Tropes





	1. What I want most of all

**Author's Note:**

> [insert note about not being dead, just bad at writing here] 
> 
> awkwardspiritanimals requested I write a specific scene that will eventually occur in this and I proceeded to contort it into something else. I hope it isn't too far off the mark.

_ When you know you can't have what you want, _

_ Where's the profit in wishing? _

_ -Stephen Sondheim, "A Very Nice Prince"  _

Years ago, two friends, both lonely and smarting from a series of bad breaks in the courtroom and mostly their respective personal lives, met at a bar they both frequented. Said friends, content to while the hours away over some very nice scotch, were uncaring that such things were not among the typical behaviors of work colleagues. 

Said work colleagues would never admit to being more than friends. At least, wanting to be more than friends. 

Yet when the conversation drifted into the vagaries of the single life, he found himself making an offer. A potentially very dangerous offer.

“Make you a deal, Sergeant,” he smiles conspiratorially, “you ever feel the need to get married I have you covered.”

She snorts, “You’d marry me for a deal?”

“Under the right set of circumstances,”

“Call it morbid curiosity, but what sort of circumstances?”

Maybe it was the hour, the amount of Glenlivet coursing through their veins, or perhaps a momentary lapse in an otherwise carefully controlled existence - but that night ended with Rafael Barba and Olivia Benson making a contract, painstakingly documented.

Should the right circumstances bear fruit, they would get married. 

It was airtight, morally sound, and legally binding. It wouldn’t matter unless they needed it and they were both sure they would never actually need it. 

A thing friends do as a joke, right? Make a contract at your favorite dive and get the bartender to witness it. It didn’t matter that it was in writing. Joe was trustworthy and honestly neither of them were going to call each other out on it. 

Each was sure the other would find a spouse before the contract became necessary. Each would be happy to absolve the other of said conditions should the need arise.

It wouldn’t be a problem.

No one anticipated the following complications - Jack McCoy’s retirement, an old-fashioned boss, and a political operative who felt he could use this set of circumstances to his advantage.

Nobody solves a problem like Felipe Dominguez.

* * *

Rafael Barba has a problem. Or rather, a situation complicated by a problem. Months ago he’d requested a transfer. He’d said he wanted a change, the opportunity to do more, take on different responsibilities - all the bullshit you tout when you’re halfway out the door and don’t quite want to be honest. 

He hadn’t been completely lying - those were the things he could say to his executive ADA and the person conducting his inevitable exit interview and maybe even to Jack McCoy. They were even the reasons he’d told Olivia. However much she knew it wasn’t the full story. 

The honest truth is he was burnt out. You can only tilt at a finite amount of windmills before you hurt yourself.

Olivia had treated this as inevitability. Everyone moves on eventually. 

Jack McCoy had offered him another opportunity - a secret door behind the bookshelf. He’d received a transfer along with a promotion. He had the opportunity to prosecute high profile crimes that were a challenge but also had more opportunity for a win.

Rafael Barba was now the Executive ADA of the Rackets Bureau and realizing the secret passageway he’d been offered was, in fact, a trap door.

The Lieutenant over the Organized Crime Unit was a dick and he suspected half the people under him were on the take. This was nothing that could hold water or that he could prove in a court of law, but he’d been doing this long enough to trust his instincts. 

Maybe he could bide his time long enough to prove it. Otherwise he was going to find a different secret passageway. Because what he hated most about this division was the trenchant sense of boredom.

The last large case that went through the Rackets Bureau took two years just to go to trial. A trial that had been lost on a technicality he wasn’t entirely sure was legitimate. 

That is his current situation - bored, underutilized, surrounded by scum and slime. His problem, on the other hand, can only be described as New York’s preeminent political operative. A snake wrapped in a wardrobe even he couldn’t muster the budget for.

Felipe Dominguez was responsible for half of the seats on the City Council, at least three state representatives, and though he was loath to admit it, a few US representatives.

Dominguez gets people elected. Rafael Barba has no interest in being elected to anything. He’d given up that dream somewhere with Ashtonja and solidified his choice after Alex. 

None of this was a problem for Felipe. Easily fixable choices, he’d assured - he keeps assuring. 

He isn’t sure how or when or why the man had taken a shining to him. He likes to appear in his office on random weekdays, making up fanciful tales of all the good he can do if he’d just take the chance.

Lately he’d been just bored enough, and Felipe just charming enough, that he hadn’t kicked him out of his office the the latest times he’d tried to line out his fifteen point plan for a better universe through sentence reduction. 

Today is Tuesday, and he has a feeling that his situation and his problem are starting to merge. 

* * *

"It does not look the best that you are, cómo se dice, unattached?" Dominguez states archly, floating into his office with nothing hinting at an introduction. 

"You can't ask how you say something and then say it, Felipe," he groans, somehow understanding he will be stuck listening to Manhattan's premier pollster for the better part of the morning.

"I can do what I want, es a free country. Or so I have been told by my good chums at Zorro y Amigos." 

Felipe says things like this to get attention. He wants you to fall into the trap of asking a naturalized Mexican immigrant if he actually watches Fox News. He’s been on the receiving end of this one too many times.

He will never take that bait. 

The problem this time is that it requires him to take the other bait. The lure they both know is his real Achilles’ heel. 

"I'm not sure what you mean by unattached."

Dominguez grins, trap thus set, "you do not have an esposo or esposa or novio or even a little bitty dog. No strings. It looks weird."

He’d married his work long ago. The first person he’d felt that way about married his best friend instead. The second, well - in spite of drunken promises he’d never hold her feet to - was never going to feel that way about him. 

"What, exactly, does a dog have to do with an office I am not running for?"

The office Felipe Dominguez has been assuring him for six months is his birthright - New York County District Attorney. The man had ranted something about Jack McCoy's impending retirement, institutional memory, representative democracy. To borrow a phrase from Jerry Seinfeld - yadda yadda yadda.

He is perfectly happy where he is. 

That’s a lie - to himself, to the institution, to whatever in order to hold his sanity. He has no interest in being Jack McCoy’s successor. He has no interest in taking part in a job that too often requires you to sell your soul. 

That doesn't mean anything to the man who single-handedly took on the modern equivalent to Tammany Hall, "for the fiesta."

"People like doggos,” he states innocently, “I do not make the rules."

Felipe makes up most of his rules.

"So if I don't have a puppy then I don't have to run for DA? Sounds perfect."

"Dios, no. You are getting a girlfriend or a boyfriend or I am getting you a cat."

He is getting none of these things. Least of all to fulfill Felipe’s weird ideas about what people look for in a prosecutor. 

Do people even pay attention to who their DA is? At least before one commits prosecutorial misconduct and winds up the villain of a Netflix docuseries? 

"Or: I'm not running for DA like I have told you several thousand times."

"Maybe I should get you a cat regardless of this conversation. You seem…" Felipe trails off, making a disgusted expression along with a very tight fist, "constipated."

He wasn't enjoying this conversation before it became about his bowels and now he's just annoyed. 

"You're telling me felines are the new Miralax? Someone call Instagram."

"You do realize your sarcasm isn't charming, don't you?"

"It wasn't meant to be."

It was meant to stop the conversation, but now it's gone and turned serious. 

"Rafael, what I mean to say is-” he somehow morphs into something resembling honesty, “People aren't going to vote for the guy who seems as if he spends all day at the biblioteca because he doesn't know how to talk to the gente."

Something about this needles him. He is quite capable of talking to people. Even Amanda Rollins likes him at times. Being a capable attorney has very little to do with your personal life. 

"Couldn't you just use it as proof of how dedicated I am to the job?"

"Ha!" Felipe states, visibly not laughing, "You crack me up. No. The people of Nueva York, in their infinite wisdom, vote for the people they like. People they think are like them. If you have never been married you are not like them."

He has the ridiculous urge to ask how many times he's supposed to have been married in order to run for president but he's afraid he'll get an answer. 

Instead he rolls his eyes, "How many members of City Council aren't married, and what about Ocasio-Cortez?"

"This is not the city council and you are not AOC."

His point is that AOC is an outlier to the typical rules and maybe he could be a different kind of outlier. If he wanted to be one. Which he doesn't. 

At least, not like this. Not for this. 

"And thus he perished."

"I am so glad you find this so amusing because when you lose it will not be my fault."

At least they're reaching somewhere near the same page. 

"When I lose it will be because I didn’t run."

This time Dominguez rolls his eyes. "If you are not running then what am I doing here?"

"This is something I've been asking for six months."

"You'll run. You'll see."

He is never going to admit there's something in the delivery that terrifies him. A snap behind the eyes indicating complete determination, regardless of anyone else's wishes.

Felipe Dominguez will get him to run or he's going to ruin his life.

Maybe even both.

* * *

Maybe the best idea wasn't going to Olivia with this. Then again his best idea is probably getting rid of Felipe somehow. As if he would listen to reason. 

As if reason passed the man's orbit once or twice a millenium.

No. His best idea is probably going back to Queens and lying as low as possible. Though lying as low as possible probably involves trips to Miami and staying out of the limelight. 

He feels preternaturally drawn to the limelight somehow, as if it pulls him in by the scruff of his neck. 

What he really wants is to be able to get over himself and stay on sex crimes, but he isn't a good enough person to be the kind of public servant that deserves. Carisi is doing a fine job. Even if he would never tell him to his face.

Even so, a big part of the reason he can't go back is entirely selfish. You can't focus on the case at hand if you're distracted by the head of the department. 

See, he can be in love with Liv. He can be best friends with Liv. He can even remain both things while understanding she will never love him back.

He just finds it difficult to remain objective around her any more. Maybe that's fine. Maybe that comes with the territory, but he can't remain an effective advocate if he can't think straight around her.

The compromise he made with himself was the dinners. He could continue asking her out to meals and going to her apartment. He just had to resign himself to know they were never going to be anything more. 

That pact they made years ago, slightly buzzed on wine and each other’s company, had increasingly been featuring in the back of his mind. Something about the fact that she keeps him around gives him a sense of hope he has no right to feel.

He hasn't told her, really, that in some ways he quit SVU for her. He doesn’t know how she’d handle that information. Besides, he can’t begin to get into the full truth - that seeing her every single day and knowing she’s never going to love him the way he loves her had been teetering toward unbearable.

Instead, this is the game he plays with himself once a week, give or take. Showing up at her apartment with increasingly expensive bottles of wine like she's going to notice the effort. Occasionally helping with spaghetti or fish sticks or whatever Noah has decided he needs.

There’s something about it he desperately wants - the ease and the sense of belonging that comes with it.

He’s terrified he’ll walk in one day and be reminded he has no right to want it - because it isn’t what she wants. Not with him anyway. 

He knows that someday he’s supposed to call in that pact, but he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to voice it aloud. It was a promise borne out of desperation, of helping him out. 

He will never be the guy - her guy.

So he will be her dumb best friend instead. Getting a hair too wasted on wine and listening to her problems. Sharing his. 

At least that’s what he’s doing tonight. 

Because there is no way he can keep the latest BS with Felipe to himself.

"I swear he keeps bringing up this dog or girlfriend thing,” he groans over Olivia’s smirk. "I'm glad it’s so amusing to you."

"I think he has a crush on you, that's all."

"Felipe? No. He's…" he fumbles. He doesn't know anything personal about the man who suddenly appeared in his life one day, offering to change his life. Anything besides his childhood in Guadalajara that could be made up for all he knows. Felipe and his Faustian offers of money, wealth, and power mean nothing to him. "Well honestly I'm not sure he's human."

She giggles, "We believe in vampires now?" 

There _ 's  _ something about that particular laugh from her that sends him aloft. Every time. As if all of the weight of her world is lifted for just a second because of some dumb shit he said. 

It’s becoming more and more difficult to recover from it with any sort of dignity.

"No," he manages, screwing up his face in mock horror, "More like aliens wearing skin suits."

He doesn't actually think Dominguez is an alien, just a political animal of the most calculating of orders. Possibly a low level demon. If you believe in that sort of thing.

Which he doesn't. Most days. 

Liv just smiles, sipping from her glass, "That was quite enough malbec for you, Mr. Barba."

Sometimes he thinks he could just reach over the table and kiss her. Let go of all of this. 

But she doesn't really like him like that. 

Hell, she's trying to get him to date fucking Dominguez. Who is certainly not a werewolf. Maybe.

"He wants me to run for district attorney and part of that plan is finding me a partner."

That gets her attention. She considers her glass idly.

"Do you want to run for district attorney?"

It strikes him that she’s asking what he wants, not whether he could win or if he should. I

t’s a thought he hadn't much considered. Then again, what he truly wants is sitting right beside him. He’d tell her if it wouldn’t ruin everything.

So instead he avoids the consideration, “They have me marooned over in Rackets. I can't believe he thinks I'd win."

She shakes her head, "Not the question."

If he thinks about it too much, he might actually want it. To be able to direct the choices of such a large institution. To use such power for good for systematic change.

He might want it even if it requires being Jack McCoy’s successor.

But there’s no way he’d win - his friendship with Alex, the money he gave to Ashtonja, the time he failed to keep William Lewis in jail. Those are each their own poison. 

Sure, people have done worse things in the name of political aspirations, and Felipe can probably trade a host of favors to achieve them, but he’s not sure he wants that. 

So, if he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t have to lose it. 

Not admitting it means no failure. No feelings. 

"No,” he gulps another sip of his wine, “I don't want to run."

That isn't a lie, per se. It also isn't the truth. 

Liv, who is not only his best friend, but a trained interrogator, does him the favor of not calling him out on the word choice. 

Funnily enough, it’s a politician’s answer. He might want pieces and sparks of what the job can do, but he’s not willing to sacrifice the rest of himself to get there.

She looks him over, "And how do you think that’s going to go over with your new patron?”

He shakes his head. She’s joking. 

She doesn’t understand. That’s the part he genuinely doesn’t know how to handle. 

“I don’t know.” 

It’s the most truthful thing he’s admitted to himself in a long time.

* * *

His plan for now is to wait out the man-demon. 

Eventually he is going to have to sign something in order to file for candidacy. So he just won’t sign it. This will involve actually paying attention to the things Carmen puts on his desk, but he’s willing to. 

He realizes he is likely underestimating the extent of Dominguez's dedication. He did, after all, get many people elected to city council who have absolutely no business being there.

This hypothesis confirms itself when Dominguez ups the ante.

It’s Thursday. Nothing particularly exciting is happening. Nothing is ever really happening in the Rackets Bureau. 

That’s when Felipe wafts in without announcement.

He would like to pretend he is being interrupted while on some very important business. Really he is just exasperated.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here or am I just supposed to deal with it?”

"You work in the Rackets Wardrobe,” Felipe offers as if it explains everything, “I think you can handle me coming by." 

"The Rackets  _ Bureau,"  _ he corrects. "And I'm not sure why Carmen let you in."

"She didn't," he smiles, "she is getting a coffee and I took the opportunity to pop in."

"Have you been sitting outside my office all day waiting for Carmen to leave?"

It’s 10 a.m. ‘All day’ effectively means two hours. 

"No." He states in a way scraping toward honesty, "I have been trying to get a deal made to help the Marcos.”

There’s something about his tone - the fact that he doesn’t insert a random Spanish vocab word or pretend he doesn’t understand English grammar - something assured and measured, that throws him. It feels like suddenly finding the snake in the garden wasn’t the devil after all. 

Or maybe that the devil is capable of human-like acts? 

"Really?" he asks, sensing there is an ulterior motive of some sort.

All eight members of the Marcos family had been found in their living room. Each were killed in a different manner so violent even he wasn’t privy to the finer details, save what made it into the papers. 

Each had their eyeballs removed from their sockets, with the lids drawn back over the empty holes, and coins placed over them. 

A gesture out of antiquity or Greek mythology, the cable news hosts had squawked. A gesture so ritualized it had to be the work of multiple assailants. 

Or Satanists. 

The cable news hosts loved their ritualized Satanic murders.

He’s not sure what motivates Felipe Dominguez to ensnare himself in the drama. He’s mostly just heard rumors homicide had been hitting some brick walls, but that was a typical rumor from homicide.

Though - with it being the latest unsolved murder to grace the lower levels of YouTube speculation and message board ranting, Dominguez probably just wants to make a splash.

"Es extraño” he breathes, folding himself into the chair across from Rafael’s desk, “And getting it fixed is a good campaign ad for someone."

He could go on a rant about how you don’t ‘fix’ homicide and that there are myriad more reasons to pursue it than political gain, but it would fall on deaf ears. 

"Someone?” he musters, by way of an answer.

"Maybe even you,” Dominguez leads. 

He’s not going to ask for a transfer to homicide just so he can help with this case. That’s much too obvious and the opposite of what his stress level needs. Felipe must not understand how this works.

He sighs, "Those of us in the Rackets Bureau don't have much to do with homicides."

The man smiles, slowly, snake back into full form. “Say an international crime syndicate paid for los muertes? Are the rackets interested then?"

That would explain the red tape he’d heard about through the grapevine. 

His boss had a habit of needing fourteen layers of paperwork before even thinking of involving the organized crime unit. And the organized crime unit needed an additional fifteen layers of paperwork lined with hundred bills to think about any investigation.

"Either you have something or-"

He shouldn’t be surprised when Felipe produces a manila envelope from his jacket and lays it on his desk as an offering. Still, though. 

"I swear if you stole this from homicide."

"No no,” he throws out a hand in mock offense, “My friend in homicide gave it to me. To find a person to pursue."

He’s dubious.

“You have friends?"

Felipe pauses, thinking on his word choice. "In a manner of speaking. I have… assets."

He can tell he is supposed to ask if he is also an asset. He's not going to.

He shouldn’t look at the file. He’s not even sure it’s a real file. And if it is - it’s the sort of thing that gets people fired and/or prosecuted for misconduct. 

What’s that saying about the cat? How it had nine lives and used them all up on curiosity? 

The folder contains heaps of documents indicating routing numbers and off-shore accounts. Transcripts of text messages and emails. Phone call logs between a New York area code and an international number. 

He’s about to say there’s nothing here when he sees the picture.

It shows one of the details that hadn’t made it into the press. Eight people, sitting in a row, coins over their empty eyes. One man is in the middle with his eyes intact. 

There is no gold for him.

Jorge Marcos had been made to watch his entire family mutilated and murdered. 

Whoever gave this to Felipe must really trust him. 

“Felipe,” he coughs, “this is real.”

“Of course it is, who do you think I am?” 

“Yourself?”    


“Mean,” he accuses, “but fair. Look at the article though.”

Underneath the photo is a clipping from a Honduran newspaper. 

It details the murder of a man in Tegucigalpa. His entire family was killed in front of him, evidenced by his intact eyes and their missing ones. It’s a calling card, the article alleges, of the Galledras cartel. 

The same cartel that had been pushing a host of heroin and opioids into New York. The same cartel he had been trying to prosecute for its under-the-table MLB betting game. That was a lesser offshoot, but he knew how to follow the money.

Felipe’s asset has a hunch, and is trying to prove where the money came from.

“Too bad you can’t really get into this one,” he leads, clearly trying to goad him. 

“What do you mean?”

“Even if we got this flipped to the Rackets,” he whispers, as if they are now forming a team, “You know how the Tennis Chief is with families.”

He’s not going to explain what racketeering is for the four hundredth time. Felipe obviously knows what racketeering is or he wouldn’t have brought him this case. 

What he means is - the Bureau Chief won’t let him have this case because the Bureau Chief is a man from Bayonne who thinks single people aren’t to be trusted. 

Though, if Felipe is any indication, he might not be too far afield.

“Bureau Chief Williams is old-fashioned,” he considers, “but I guess Patil could handle it.”

“Patil has thirty-four children.” He counters with a surprisingly astute read on his office, “you really want all of them in danger?”

There’s no proof that’s what is actually going on, and no proof the cartel would target his family. Except for the two cases where they clearly sent a message.

“Vikram only has three kids and no.”

Vikram has more of a specialty in the financial aspects of casework anyway. He could certainly use his help but he doesn’t think he’d even want the case.

“Es muy malo you cannot convince that lady friend of yours to pretend to be your esposa.”

God. 

What?

He can’t even unpack where that one came from. 

Felipe Dominguez has decided Rafael Barba is to be the next District Attorney of New York County. But first he is to take down a cartel, while also pretending to be in love with his best friend.

His best friend who he’s actually in love with, but who’s counting?

“That lady friend of mine?” he chokes. Maybe he means Rita, who will absolutely murder both of them for the suggestion.

“The one who inferred she would whip me with a police baton when I tried to get Andrew Green out of jail...”

That’s definitely Liv. He doesn’t think he talks about her enough to have Felipe getting on her tail. Then again, he didn’t think Felipe knew who anyone in his office was until a few moments ago. 

Then again, what was he doing inserting himself into the Andrew Green case?

“You tried to get Andrew Green out of jail?”   


“Merely to see if it was possible,” he shrugs.“Apparently some of the policía thought it wouldn’t be a great idea.”

What aim could he possibly have been going for there? It would be in no one’s interest to get that man out of jail. 

Unless he was an evil of a different sort entirely. 

Andrew Green, a convicted rapist, had been let out of prison in Jersey due to a sweetheart deal no one could explain why he’d been offered. At least, no one could explain it without getting into wild conspiracy theories about world governments. 

SVU had brought him in on separate charges in Manhattan. Carisi had the case to send him to jail for a very, very long time. And Liv had made sure it got enough limelight in the press that no more sweetheart deals would be offered.

“To let a billionaire pedophile out on bond? You’re - “   


“I knew they were not going to let me,” he interrupts, rolling his eyes, “I do have some morals thank you. My plan was to make the NYPD look stupid by giving it consideration. For once they didn’t bite. Your lady friend - I like her.”

The smile he gets unleashes a theory deep in his brain that Felipe never learned out to make friends the normal way. That is why he collects assets, tools for world domination. 

Except he only seems to like the people who give him a hard time.

He finds it strange that’s what the man seems to go for, but he supposes that’s what initially drew him to Liv. Her certainty of the righteous act. 

She’d never agree to plots out of romance novels for him. (Except the time she sort of did.)

“Captain Benson’s absolute sense of moral clarity is exactly why she would never do this.”   


“Or maybe why she would.”

He’s had this wrong the entire time. Felipe isn’t a snake, or the devil, or a demon masquerading as a funhouse mirror. He is Loki, the trickster God, bathed in chaos and reveling in havoc. 

The worst part of all of this is - he is absolutely right.

The one thing that would convince Olivia Benson to pretend to be in love with him is the good that would come as a result. He is going to convince her otherwise by pointing out how ridiculous it is.

He is not mentioning the pact she has to have forgotten about by now. 

* * *

He should not have done this in her office. Captain Olivia Benson is very busy, thank you. He should have waited and warned her about Felipe’s plot over a bottle of wine. 

But he needs a clear head to do this. 

Though, visiting her at the office reminds him of yet another reason this is a terrible idea. How many cases could be thrown out on appeal? How many bastards with halfway decent lawyers would seize any opportunity to paint a conflict of interest?

That has the potential of happening no matter how carefully they time the fake relationship she is never agreeing to. 

“Sorry,” she mutters as she walks in, holding a file, “last minute flip. You know the drill.”

He does, and he’s glad he was able to get Carisi up to speed so he doesn’t feel like he’s completely abandoned her, but he still misses it. Well, misses being able to work as a team with all of them, really. 

If he’s being completely honest, it’s half the reason he fleetingly considered this hare-brained scheme in the first place.

“I do,” he smiles, “and it isn’t a big deal, but I wanted to warn you that Dominguez might be coming by to try and convince you to -”

Words fail. 

It really defies description.

_ Hello Olivia,  _

_ Please pretend to want to marry me so I can get my boss to put me on a case homicide believes may be related to a cartel. This is only so I can win an election I don’t want to run for. _

_ XoXo _

_ Rafa _

That’s addled and ridiculous, but it’s Olivia. She’s lived through the most addled and ridiculous things in the world.

So he tries his best. 

Explaining the Galledras connection is easier than he thought. Explaining what it has to do with her is a bit more complex. 

He starts with how Williams is old-fashioned and how the only other competent person in his office isn’t up to trials. 

The rest of it he just has to say.

“Then he tries to convince me you would pretend to be married to me.” 

He’s expecting a laugh. He even tries to laugh himself. 

But it doesn’t come. 

Her mouth curves. She looks down, seeming to actually consider it. 

Then, instead of denying him outright, she does the most Olivia Benson thing she can - offers assistance only if he wants it.

“Do you really think it would help?”

She’s not asking whether he wants to or if she should. She’s not even curious if Felipe is actually a Norse swindler who has a habit of turning into animals.

She wants to know if he thinks it would help.    


“Liv,” he pleads, “do not for a second think you can trust him. He’s --”   


“I don’t,” she cuts in, affirming she could care less about anyone’s political ambitions, “but Rafa, if you think it might work it’s worth it.”   


Worth it to pretend to be in love with a woman he’s been madly in love with for several years in order to catch a likely assassin. 

He feels like he’s setting himself up for heartache. But he can’t find it in himself to say no, either. 

"Besides,” she smiles, “we did promise to marry each other if the need arose, right?"

She could have knocked him over with that one. In fact, he’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t have collapsed had he been standing.

"I thought you forgot about that,” he gulps, trying to find the proper response.

"No,” she shakes her head. “We can work out our timeline tonight after Noah goes to bed, okay?”

Tonight, as in inviting him over to finalize their deceit. 

This is a bad idea.

For him, for her. For everyone’s careers. Maybe by tonight he’ll find it in himself to tell her that. 

* * *

When he arrives back to his office, it is way too late. It’s definitely too late for Carmen to still be there. 

Which is why he is surprised to find Dominguez sitting outside, as if he's been waiting all afternoon to spring a piece of news on him. Really, does he have nothing else to do?

Instead of greeting him, he holds out a sheet of paper. It’s a sheet of paper he knows quite well. 

"I found this document in your desk," he sneers, "es muy interesante."

Why the fuck had he kept in there and not somewhere more secure?

“When you broke and entered," he counters.

An Executive ADA’s office should be fairly impenetrable, and he should be more concerned about the man's habit of lifting documents from government property than he really is.   


“I was trying to find a pen," he shrugs, feigning innocence.   


“In locked files?”

“The fact is this contract is a nice story," he points his finger between them, gingerly indicating the part with both names. The part where it fully condemns him for drawing up a contract while mostly drunk and completely over-the-moon for his best friend. 

“The contract that isn’t at all legally binding.”

Technically speaking they have all of the elements needed for an agreement. There were two willing parties and an audience.    


“Looks pretty airtight to me. You even have a witness.”   


“Like you would know.”

“Contract Law is fairly concrete. At least that’s what my friend assures me.”   


“You showed this to another asset?”

Just when he was thinking Dominguez wasn't entirely a demon he goes and performs and actual crime.    


“Do not worry. Sarah is quite discreet. Unfortunately for me she is a good person and will not leak this to the press." He laughs, "unfortunately for you I still reserve the right.”   


“As if anyone would believe -”   


“That you would enter into a legally binding contract to advance both of your careers?”

He's… stuck now. He can't tell Liv the truth and he can't back out of this either. And somehow he's got her roped into his bullshit too. 

"What do you want?"

He knows exactly what Felipe wants. It’s the thing he's been angling for for six months. He wants to run a political campaign he doesn't understand the need for. 

"If you announce you are running for DA I will not leak to the press."

"I believe that's blackmail."

As if saying it out loud is going to change how things are. As if calling him out is going to make him morph into a human being. 

"We all have a tempestuous relationship with the quid pro quo these days but I think pressing the issue is also admitting it, no?"

There are two ways out of this - to admit to the contract in the press and tear down Liv with him, or to go along with it and hope Felipe is true to his word. 

It’s possible he only has to pretend to be interested in the office. He can offer to run, but he doesn’t have to promise to try. He can bide some time until he talks to Olivia.

"Can I wait to file until after we are able to prosecute?"

Felipe grins, as if this has all been part of his plan, "certainly."

Rafael Barba is well and truly fucked, he just wishes it never had to involve his best friend. 

What’s that saying about the best-laid plans? What happens if it’s a half-baked pact made in a terrible panic? 


	2. ...is to know what I want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of a time skip here and the rating upgrade is more for safety.

It should be the happiest time of her life, right? Marrying her best friend.

Marrying your best friend who you also happen to be in love with should be simple.

But that isn't exactly her situation. In reality she is only pretending to be engaged to a man who is only going along with a plot to keep them both from being blackmailed.

In a word, it is … disappointing

She can tell herself she agreed to this for the greater good all she wants, but that does her no actual good. 

It’s just that pretending he actually does love her the way she wants him to for feels nice. 

Sometimes she thinks he might - for a few moments. When she almost catches him staring. Before she remembers it’s just wishful thinking. 

Rafael Barba will never allow himself to fall in love with measly old her.

She can barely believe she mentioned that pact they made. She was only trying to assuage him, to help him realize she’d already agreed to this. 

Instead she’d knifed at her own heart. 

He never really wanted this. She knew that. But that look he’d given her - just abject panic, like he’d hoped she’d forgotten. 

That is why she can’t believe she’s doing this to herself.

He doesn’t love her. He was only ever going to agree to the terms of that pact if she had called him on it. 

Now he’s only doing it because he’s been threatened.

“ _ Whatever you want, _ ” he’d said, clearly hoping she’d back out of it. 

What she wants is obvious, she thinks. But she can’t have it. 

So, they made a plan. Even though plans were what got them into this mess. This time they wouldn’t write it down. This time they wouldn’t hide the paper in a file cabinet at an office that was suspiciously insecure. 

Their story?  They’d been secretly dating since he moved over to Rackets. They had quietly fallen for each other over the six years they had been working together, but of course it never interfered with their cases. In fact, that was why he had transferred. So she could keep doing what she needed to, and they could be a couple. 

It’s a little too close to her own truth for her liking, but at least she didn’t have to act too much to sell it.

He was to begin the process of moving in after a few weeks. They were going to let Felipe place his announcement about it in the paper, and then wait until the Marcos case came through the bureau to make the next move. 

The sad part of it is she doesn’t know if he actually thinks they’re going to get married, but she’s willing to. There’s no use holding out for everything she ever wanted when most of the elements are there. 

She suspects he has other plans, because every time they discuss it he has the demeanor of a man who desperately wants out of the situation. At least, he desperately wants her out of this situation. 

Try as she might to see it in a different way - that he feels guilty for getting her roped up into this - it’s hard not feel as if he’s trying to be rid of her. 

Which is why she can’t tell him how she really feels. She can’t trap him into this even if he’s willing to trap herself. 

She will just have to try to keep her heart out of it. 

Even though she’s already failing.

* * *

One of the many problems with pretending to be in love with your best friend and agreeing to fake marry him is that it still requires a ring. The problem with fake-marrying your best friend for publicity is that it requires a fairly public proposal. 

The restaurant has Felipe’s influence all over it. A dimly lit, entirely too expensive, Italian haunt frequented by exactly the sort of people who Rafael would need to impress.

Except, this is actually a normal place in the Bronx. It’s frequented by people who seem to already know who Rafa is. People he keeps introducing her to while saying she’s his girlfriend. 

There doesn’t seem to be an ounce of artifice around it. It’s sort of terrifying.

Terrifying because it seems almost real. 

As if this is exactly the sort of place Rafael would be proposing to her - scratch that - to someone. Should he ever get the shot. 

Is she robbing him of that chance or is he trying to tell her something? 

Possibly that he’s capable of romance for the right person. That maybe she could be that right person, if they can learn to live with it. 

Maybe the love she’s been searching for is right here after all. She just has to be okay with the dusty little piece of it she’s been thrown. 

The waitstaff would not be good undercover, she thinks. If she didn’t know this was coming they would have given it away with their obvious glances and opportune smiles. 

And when Rafa excuses himself to pretend to go to the bathroom, she gulps down what feels like an entire glass of wine. 

He’s going to have the chef place the ring on top of a slice of cheesecake.

It’s funny. It’s the sort of thing he would always order at Forlini’s after he’d had a bit too much to drink and then whine his way out of eating all of. She’d protest that cream cheese was bad for her and he’d just goad her until she took pity on him. Tell her to relax and live a little. 

Sit. Drink. Smile. 

She would have punched anyone else had he said that to her. Hell, she had wanted to punch him a little when he had, but he didn’t mean it like that. 

Relax. Take a load off. Enjoy yourself. 

She doubts he remembers any of that. She doubts a piece of cheesecake means anything to him. Other than a canvas to lay his burdens onto. 

The waitress gives her a knowing smile as he returns. God, these people are obvious. 

He gives a big show about the ring. So much so his smile even seems genuine as he pulls back his chair and kneels in front of her. 

She has to force the lump down her throat. You’re supposed to be happy to get your dreams, right? 

So she smiles right back at him. Nodding yes as she lets him put it on her finger. 

To all the dumbasses clapping for they are the picture of a perfect couple. To all these people her trembling hands are from excitement. They don’t know her tears are for a different reason entirely.

None of this is real. 

Not ring on her hand - exquisitely cut and in the perfect setting. She doesn’t want to know where he went to get this good of a knock-off.

Certainly not the kiss to her forehead. 

None of it is true - she reminds herself. And she desperately wishes it could be. 

* * *

She didn’t realize her feelings were so obvious to everyone. 

At least, she feels that’s the reason no one seems surprised to see a ring on her finger. Hell, Fin doesn’t even seem to notice it. 

Kat has the decency to be perplexed.

“I didn’t know you were dating anyone, Captain,” she offers as she pours some sugar into her coffee.

“Oh come on,” Amanda pipes in, “she’s been dating Barba since the second he left.”

That’s a bit - wrong. But also right on the nose. Had she been given a script to follow or something?

“Don’t be speculating on your boss’s account Rollins,” Fin cautions. “It ain’t none of our business.”

“Whatever,” she groans, “Just tell me whoever it is didn’t make you ride in a carriage in Central Park.”

She laughs, “No. We went to Carmines.”

Carisi smiles knowingly. She wouldn’t be surprised if he has a running tally of all the Italian restaurants in the city. Graded on a scale of one to five cannolis. 

“Good on him,” he grins, “I know he likes that place.”   
Rafa talked to Carisi for pointers? Unlikely. 

“Who are we talking about?” Kat asks, still confused. She hasn’t really had to encounter Rafael much since he transferred. 

“Carisi’s predecessor,” Amanda explains, “Well, I guess Stone was technically here for like three weeks between them but fuck that guy.”

Peter Stone had not warmed to SVU very much. He lasted for two cases before suddenly deciding he was better suited upstate. It was only because of his father that she hadn’t reported him for constantly trying to get women to catch him undressed in his office. 

Fuck that guy indeed. 

“Y’all don’t even know who it is,” Fin interjects, in a feeble attempt to get everyone back to work. 

“C’mon Fin,” Amanda laughs, “It’s Barba. In fact, if isn’t I refuse to come to the wedding.”

The wedding that is likely never happening. 

Amanda continues, turning to Kat, “he’s always in here bringing her coffee and shit.” 

That’s not really the marker of a relationship but she should be glad the ruse is working, shouldn’t she?

Realization dawns on Detective Tamin, “The one with the suits,” she grins, looking over at her approvingly. “Good for you, Captain.” 

“Thank you,” she thinks is the right response, possibly? “While you’re all suitably distracted, I think I have a meeting with ADA Carisi.”

They were supposed to go over the latest details in the Andrew Green case, but she has a feeling that is not what they are going to be discussing. 

"Did he get the parm?" Carisi pesters as he follows her into her office, smiling as if he's on to something even though he makes no earthly sense.

"The what?" She asks.

"Chicken parmigiana," he states obviously, "if he got the parm then you know it’s for keeps."

Serious, about a fake engagement they're only agreeing to because of organized crime and political actors? Because of parmigiana? It astounds her sometimes that he is a genuinely good lawyer. 

"Chicken parm is supposed to tell me all that?" She laughs in disbelief.

Carisi just nods, as if he's about to write an advice book (Things You Can Tell Just By Eating with Him: A Guide to the Heart through Italian Cuisine by Dominick Carisi Jr, Esq.). 

"Yeah," he smiles, gesturing to the ring "though I don't think we need the parm to know he feels about ‘ya."

She can’t help the snort. This ring might look gorgeous on her hand. It might feel like the perfect spot for it. It might even be what she’d have picked out if he had asked her to be there. 

It’s just as fake as their engagement. 

“He spends more on ties,” she assures. 

She doesn’t know why she’s arguing this with him. Maybe she’s just bristling at the fact that he feels like the 40th person to fall for the lie. The lie she wants to be anything but. 

Carisi’s brow furrows, “I don’t know what Barba’s spending on ties Cap, but that’s a real nice diamond.”

“And you know what nice diamonds look like,” she retorts, as if it’s useful to anyone. 

“Well,” he shrugs, “I went undercover at a jeweler’s once. Turns out they were trying to smuggle heroin through the supply chain ‘cause they’d seen too many movies,” Great. Another Carisi story. “Anyway, I learned all about the four C’s in the meantime.”

“The four Cs?” 

“Carat, Cut, Color and Clarity,” he nods, as if it explains anything. “That thing is a beaut'. Besides, it’s Barba. He wouldn’t go halfway on that sort of thing even if you told him to.”

She had… told him to. She told him not to waste his time and money on a fake ring and of course he hadn’t listened to her. Of course he felt the need to go to an actual jeweler and break her heart. 

Then again. He’s not the only person in on this. 

It’s everything she ever wanted - the perfect ring from the perfect man she’s in love with. It shouldn’t piss her off so much that he doesn’t actually love her. 

What pisses her off is he’s wasting his time. And there’s only Felipe to blame. 

He didn’t buy this ring for her. He bought this ring for the platonic ideal of the person he is going to marry. 

Whoever the fuck that is.

* * *

The fact that she stews over it all day probably doesn’t help matters. 

She should really just text Rafa or something, but she finds she can’t face him. Something he’ll say will break her heart clear in two and as long as she has someone else to blame for it she will choose that option. 

Besides, she has a feeling Felipe deserves it. For some reason.

She’s surprised to find he does have an office, in a legitimate building that isn’t above a laundromat or Uncle Todd’s Beeper Emporium. She’s also annoyed to see he has staff and a very capable assistant who assures he will be happy to see her. 

She had visions of sneaking into his office and stealing incriminating paperwork right back. Or storming in there and screaming at him. But this is a place of business. 

There are witnesses. 

She can cuss at him behind closed doors however. So that’s what she intends to do. 

"Dominguez,” she gripes, lightly closing the door behind her as she makes her way toward his desk, “I swear to fucking -" she trails off as she notes his head against the back of his chair. His eyes are closed as if he is deeply contemplating something. 

Probably napping really.

"Hello Miss Olivia. By all means continue explaining what you are swearing to fuck. I am quite interested."

She's so flummoxed she can't even correct him on the title usage. She’s so hamfisted she forgot she took the ring off on the way over here. 

"What in the ever loving fuck do you think you are doing?" She spits, suddenly remembering she was going to reach into her pocket to pull out the object that is so offensive. So deeply, personally violating.

She slams it on his desk in front of him.

In her head this was very satisfying and dramatic. In reality he just looks between them as if this is a normal thing on a Wednesday. 

Hell, maybe it is. 

"While this is a very lovely gesture,” he notes, taking a tiny sliver of the jewelry and offering it back to her, “I am afraid I cannot accept."

"What?" she gawks, allowing him to lay it into her palm. 

"Olivia,” he tsks. Apparently she is in the principal’s office now. “You are engaged to Rafael. I cannot accept this ring."

This is not supposed to funny. She is not a toy. 

"Jesus Christ,” she forces herself to take a calming breath. “I am attempting to yell at you for making him give me a real ring for your stupid plot.”

"Well,” his mouth curls into something resembling contemplation, “I cannot say that I'm not disappointed but your fake engagement has to look very real for anyone to buy it, you know?”

It’s the rare valid opinion from a cartoon character. The reminder that this is all just a trap. 

That even if the ring is real it genuinely means nothing. “Unless you want to marry me instead."

He’s not serious and the joke is a power play. A move to show he knows what’s really going on here. 

Nevertheless, she can’t help the emotional response.

"I'd rather clean a precinct toilet with a toothbrush."

"Very mean. I'd pretend to be hurt but we both don't actually care.” There’s something in his shell that has cracked. Something forcing him to stop the shenanigans and talk to her like a normal person, all of a sudden. Maybe he’s tired, too? “What are you really mad about?"

What she’s said she’s mad about - the ring. 

"I told you. The ring is -"

He shakes his head as if it isn’t the correct answer. As if there is a correct answer and has the teacher’s edition of the textbook. "The ring is a necessary step to put this plan in place."

"Couldn't he have at least bought something from a pawn shop or something?"

Couldn’t he at least have bought a monstrosity she would hate to see on her finger? 

"If a man who wears two thousand dollar suits buys a ring from a pawn shop he isn't marrying someone for love."

And he isn’t marrying her for love. He isn’t even actually marrying her probably. Not that Felipe knows that.

"I'm just…” she sighs. “I’m supposed to accept this and continue on with the ruse because it feeds your political ambitions?"

"Yes,” he answers, annoyance clear in his tone. “It is what you agreed to. It is also what you promised you would do many years ago."

The fucking blackmail. That’s what she’s mad about. 

That he couldn’t even leave her the decency to make this her own choice. A beautiful moment between two friends, promising to help each other out, corrupted by this jackass. 

"That wasn't about your political ambition. It wasn't even about his. It was -"

"Yes?"

It’s almost as if he wants the fight. 

No. It isn’t that. He wants to know the answer. Genuinely.

"It was two friends trying to help each other out."

"And that’s not what you're doing currently?"

"I’m -" she trails off. She's not admitting this to Felipe Fucking Dominguez. She's barely even admitted it to herself. 

He's not supposed to give her this ring. Not one this nice and expensive and… perfect. She doesn't deserve it. 

If he wanted to give her this kind of ring he was supposed to mean it.

"Honestly you are fascinating to me. Clearly you are in love with him. It is obvious to everyone," he notes, "Everyone except for him. Wouldn't you want him to give you this? Unless you don't want to be in love?"

It’s not that she doesn’t want to love Rafa. It’s not even that she doesn’t want the ring. It’s that he'll never love her the same way. 

That all of this. This show is just a charade.

She could deny it. Pretend Dominguez is out of order and off-base and that only a best friend would agree to marry someone for politics. 

But there's no use denying the state of the universe. Least of all to someone this adept at reading people. 

There’s also no use wishing for things that aren't going to change.

It's just - the closer things get to her fantasies the more apparent it is she's never actually going to have any.

"He's not marrying me for love. Why go to all the trouble?"

"Why indeed,” he smirks, “Ask yourself. Why would a man spend fifteen thousand dollars on a ring if he doesn’t want the trouble?"

" _ Fifteen thousand dollars _ ?" She chokes. She has to lie down. Or sit down. Or at least put it back in the box it came in. 

"You really thought rings were so cheap? Miss Olivia we have to get you out more."

She has no idea what rings cost. She has no need to know what they cost, but she does know that it is too much money.

Even if, somehow, against all possibilities, it isn’t just for show.

"He dropped fifteen grand," she has to tamp down the screech. "I'm going to kill him."

"Please do not," Felipe responds, barely even reacting. Do people scream death threats at him on the regular? "Es muy difícil finding a viable DA candidate who is not related to someone on the city council."

He shakes his head slowly. As if he isn't also responsible for half of the seats on the city council.

It's also quite a measured response from a man who rumor has it once threw a fish at an office wall. 

It's… confusing.

"You're not going to threaten me with something?"

He tilts his head slightly, considering her, "I could. Though you will do what you want no matter what anyone says so why waste the time? It's just -" he closes his mouth audibly, throwing his hand out, "No. I should not say."

She has a feeling he intends to say it regardless.

"What?"

"You seem so convinced this engagement isn't real. What if he's hoping it is?"

She doesn’t need that kind of hope. This was a calculated, practical move from someone who makes calculated, practical moves every day. 

From someone who brings her coffee so often that’s how people know him.

From someone who she’s never known to be sentimental about much of anything. 

He can’t be.

"He’s not,” she assures herself more than Felipe.

"But what if."

"What if I punched your skull through a wall?"

She doesn’t appreciate having her emotions played with, thank you very much.

"I see we have moved on to threatening me,” he sighs. “Fine. Just please leave him a bit of dignity. For me."

A bit of dignity. For Felipe. For fuck’s sake.

The one she really has to talk to about this with is Rafa after all. 

There’s no way she can do this anymore. There’s no way she can accept a fifteen thousand dollar engagement ring from a man who cannot possibly be in love with her. 

* * *

When she asks Amanda to watch Noah tonight she isn’t sure she likes the grin she gets in response. She definitely doesn’t appreciate the comment about celebrating. 

She also can’t bring herself to change her mind. 

What she plans to do has nothing to do with celebration. She knows she’s going to ruin their friendship. She just can’t pretend anymore, regardless of what Felipe is going to do.

They’ll both just have to accept it.

By the time she’s at his apartment door she’s already worked herself into a lather thinking about his reaction. 

She doesn’t even really allow him to say hello before it’s out of her mouth. 

"I can’t do this anymore," she sighs, forcing her way into his apartment. 

There's something about the way he's dressed - open neckline, rolled shirtsleeves, unkempt hair - if she wanted she could just - no. This really isn't hers to want. 

He is not hers to want. That's the entire problem.

"Listen," he smiles, slowly closing the door behind him, "when dealing with Dominguez sometimes it’s best just to sit there and wait until he tires himself out."

He doesn’t even know what’s going on, does he?

"That's not the problem. I mean, he's part of it, but-"

"But?" He raises an eyebrow, smirking like none of this actually means anything to him. Maybe it doesn't. 

She fingers the box in her pocket. The box containing the perfect ring from what may be her perfect option. The perfect option she's going to have to turn down.

"I can't do this," she sighs.

"So you said," he laughs slightly as his eyes meet the box she's offering back to him. "Oh."

Maybe it did matter to him a little. Though she’s probably imagining the look on his face has more to do with her than it really does. 

"I'm sorry. I know I made you a promise but -"

He shakes his head, "No. You keep it."

Keep the ring she wants from the man she wants as a reminder that she'll never really have either. 

Fuck him. Honestly. 

"I don't want it." 

She doesn't think she's imagining the wince on his end. He’s definitely less mad than she was anticipating. He’s - resigned. 

"Then sell it. Use it to pay for Noah's college. I don’t know."

There’s something deeply offensive about the idea of selling the ring. Something more offensive than him giving it to someone else, as painful as that is. 

"Rafa,” she attempts, steeling herself for the way she has to say this. “You can't spend fifteen thousand dollars on a fake engagement."

She guesses he can, and he did, but the real problem is that it’s fake.

"Fifteen grand?” he defends, too sharply. “Who told you I spent that much? Felipe? You believe someone who literally lies for a living?"

He’s protesting too much. He may not have spent that much but it isn’t the problem and he knows it. 

"You're changing the subject."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's all you have to say?"

"Liv,” he slips, almost snaps, grabbing the back of his neck, “I don't know what you want from me."

Everything. 

He’s right. She wants the fight. Or the passion

Or for him to get so frustrated he just grabs her and fucking kisses her. But that’s just not him, is it?

He’s never going to do anything without explicit verbal consent and she loves him all the more for it. She just can’t bring herself to ask.

Because sometimes she thinks he doesn’t even really like her. Sometimes she feels like she ruined his life and one day he’s going to wake up and realize that. Maybe that’s all this is. The sum total of all of that attraction bubbling over. 

She just wants to feel -- something. 

"Nothing. I don't know. You're not mad at me?"

That gets his attention. "You want me to be mad at you?"

"I want some part of this to mean something to you. I want you to care about me, us,” she stops. That’s too close to the truth, she decides. “It’s - I'm not supposed to get a ring like this from some sort of agreement."

It’s the truth. Just not the full truth. So help her God. 

She forgot she was dealing with the best prosecutor in New York. And prosecutors don’t have much patience for half-truths.

"No,” he practically snarls, “You don't want a ring like that from me."

He doesn’t get it. Not at all. That’s exactly what she wants. 

She just wants it to be real. 

"That's not-"

"I don't need you to pretend,” he cuts in, “I thought maybe you'd get used to the idea of having me around, but all of this was incredibly selfish. I'm sorry."

The idea of having him around? He can’t be saying - no. This wasn’t about any kind of egoism, not from him anyway. This was about keeping themselves out of a scandal. This was about friends helping each other out.

"What are you talking about?"

"It doesn't matter,” he shakes his head, “I'll deal with Felipe."

The fact that he keeps trying to get her to drop it should really should be her clue. The fact that he went to all this trouble, continues going to all this trouble, should give her pause.

But she can’t allow herself to hope for it. Not if he isn’t willing to do anything about it.

"Rafa, why wouldn't it matter?"

He sighs, throwing his hand back across his face. "You have to know."

"No. I don't. I'm not asking just to continue this game. I'm asking because it doesn’t make any sense to me why you would buy a real ring."

She’s asking because it matters more than anything in the world right now.

"I got in my head a bit I guess,” he offers a timid smile, “A little carried away. I thought maybe if we kept playing this out it might feel real to us eventually. That I might feel real to you, eventually. I'm saying this wrong.”

Eventually, as if he isn’t staring her in the face stopping short of declaring it to her. 

"You love me?"

"Unfortunately for you," he laughs, bitterly. “I’m sorry. I tried to get over it. I really did.”

The look on his face. The pause, the wince he barely hides. He genuinely, actually believes she doesn’t want him back. As if she never agreed to marry him. 

As if he isn’t exactly what she wants.

"Rafa," She smiles, taking his hand. This is the moment, the way she can actually say it out loud. 

Before she can tell him just what dumbass she fell for years ago, he goes and proves it all over again. 

He nods, mind made up. 

"So you will sell the ring," he turns, trying to release his hand, "I should go get the paperwork."

She's not fucking selling the ring. 

She tenses her grip, "You better stay right fucking here."

"Aye aye Captain."

She knows he wants her to yell at him for the joke. Just so it will distract her from her point. He's infuriating. 

And the love of her life, really. 

"When you gave me this, I guess some part of me wanted it to be real so badly I couldn't think straight, but I didn’t think about the gesture it actually was. I thought you were playing some game or going along with it because of circumstances,” she stops. This is easy, right? Just tell him. “Rafa - I love you."

She’s not sure what she was expecting him to say. Maybe to gape at her a little or to argue with her about why she shouldn’t feel this way. Possibly even try to kiss her. 

Instead he turns his nose. “That's really not funny Liv. You don’t need to lie just to spare my feelings.”

A pair, really. He’s just as convinced she doesn’t love him as she was that he didn’t. Like she hasn’t spent the last week being pissed that he didn’t actually want to marry her. 

When all he ever did was try to spare her feelings.

Idiot. 

Perfect, honorable, presumptuous idiot. Who she loves. Very much. 

"Rafa,” she grins, trying to make him see sense, “why do you think I agreed to the stupid marriage pact in the first place?"

She can almost see that beautiful brain of his short circuit. 

He doesn’t have an answer ready for this because he’s never considered one. Yes, she agreed to the engagement because she wanted to help the case and she trusted him. Also, because she was in love with him. 

But years ago, before all of this? She was still in love with him. 

Instead of just accepting it, he retreats back into lawyer mode.

"But you don't want the ring. You're mad that I spent too much money - that it isn't real."

"I think what you're missing here,” she releases her grip to run her thumb along his palm, “is that I love you.”

"Why?” he shakes his head, “Wait. I'm just - you love me?"

Why wouldn’t she love this moron who’s just as hard-headed and stubborn as she is? Who thinks he can’t run for DA because of his past when it’s really that he’s too kind to handle it. Who’s been to hell and back and is mad he got the easy job out of it. 

Rafa can pretend he wants money and power, but he really just wants to help people. Same as her. 

Yeah she fucking loves him. 

"Yes,” she moves her hand to his neck, “And apparently you love me back - so why are you just sitting here?"

"Aren't I supposed to ask you to dinner and go on four to six dates first?"

There he is. Snarky, witty, confident Rafa. She missed him a lot. 

"You've already given me an engagement ring. I think we've skipped a few steps."

She doesn't entirely know what she's nervous about. Except that there's no way the real thing will live up to some of her more ridiculous fantasies. She's waited long enough though.

“Captain, are you asking to kiss me?”

“I mean for fuck’s sake,” she groans, resisting the urge to stomp her foot. Of course she wants to kiss him. 

“Forgive me,” his mouth quirks, “I’ve spent a number of years believing this was the last thing you wanted. It’s taking a few minutes to catch up.”

The last thing? It was the only consistent thing. “Let me be very clear-if you don’t kiss me I’m”

And his lips finally meet hers.

* * *

It should seem too fast, shouldn’t it? They haven’t even gone on a date and God she wants to continue this for forever. Continue this with a bit of escalation and a little less clothing forever, that is. 

“Fuck me,” she whimpers.

“Are you sure,” he asks, lips just above her collarbone, hands at her hips. It strikes her in that moment - for her this is what she always wanted. Even when she hated him she wanted this to a degree she’s surprised she waited for. 

She’s never realized before that he always wanted it too. Even before he knew her at all. That was really the first spark - that attraction. Of course she’s sure. 

They just had to wait for it to mean a whole lot more. 

“Yes.”

And thus it begins. Hands in pants, unhooked bra. She’s not even fully out of her jeans and he’s kneeling, helping her step out of them. It doesn’t register what he’s doing until his thumbs are under the waistband of her underwear. 

He can feel her breath hitch and looks up, “I can work with them on, if you need?” 

She shakes her head, “I mean, here?” 

“Would you prefer somewhere more public?”

An image hits her, his head between her legs as she sits on the corner of her desk. It’s not new. In fact it’s one she thought she’d banished. 

“A bed perhaps? Unless you don’t have one.”   


“Are you worried your legs can’t handle it?”   


Fuck. She bites her lip, she can’t let him know what this is doing to her. Though he can probably feel it. “More like your knees,” she challenges.   


He just smirks, putting his hands back where they were and pulling the garment down.

She must not have read him right because he isn’t getting up. In fact, his hands are back inching toward her - “Rafa?”   


“Hmm?” he notes, barely moving.

“Can we do that another time?”   


That snaps him out of it. He looks up. “Oh. I’m sorry - I thought you’d like that.” 

“I’m sure I will, I just - right now I need to," she breathes, he's not moving and clearly has every intention to eat her out in the fucking hallway. The idea of it is so akin to some of her wilder fantasies, so brazen, so hot - she can't really stand it. And that's the problem. "I need to lie down."

His mouth curls into a smile and he gets up. "Bedroom's down the hall." He gestures.

There's something ridiculously intimate about going to his bedroom. The idea she was going to marry him (pretend to marry, but still) and lying in his bed is more intimate is a bit silly. 

But this is real and they both know it. 

It’s now she realizes he is way overdressed. She's down to an unbuttoned shirt and a slipping bra and he still has on the fucking shirt. So she grabs at his collar, practically dragging him down the hall as she makes work of it. 

“Eager, are we?” he laughs, pulling it off as she moves to his pants.    


“I’ve waited a long time, okay?” she defends as he steps out of his pants, gesturing to the bed behind them. 

Of course it’s gigantic and has 85000 thread count sheets. He does appreciate the finer things after all. 

So when he practically tears her shirt off she has to trust his instincts. 

Before she really gives it much thought, he’s working at her bra and she is completely exposed. He manages to stare at her in such an adoring way it throws goosebumps up her spine. Which is also on fire. 

Then he resumes kissing her. Sensuous and passionate and fuck she’s going to explode if his thigh keeps rubbing between her legs like this. 

In fact, she moans in such a way that he stops, somehow also driving her crazy. 

He asks for permission to touch her and she tells him all she wants is him. He seems to take it as a challenge. 

In no time, his tongue is lapping around her nipple, his hand is somewhere up her inner thigh and his eyes, well, his eyes are the only thing grounding her to reality.

"Fuck," she keens as his thumb finds her clit, "fuck me."

He doesn't exactly take it as an instruction, but his fingers dip into her opening and he continues his ministrations. She's not going to be able to hold on for much longer. 

He wraps his lips around her nipple and sends her over the edge.

* * *

"You good?" He asks, gently stroking her inner thigh as she comes back down.

She smiles, "you know I wasn't talking about your hand when I asked for you."

"Commanded."

"Gently suggested."

"Hmm," he glances between them, "I figured it couldn't hurt."

"You say as if I can't feel it."

He is rock-hard against her thigh, and it’s almost alarming how she's already back ready to go. 

"You're sure?"

"Of course."

"Condoms?"

"Top drawer."

She's not sure they really need them. She doesn't need birth control and when would either of them have found the time to sleep with anyone else? But that's a conversation for a different time. 

Right now she needs him. Right now she's about to shove the condom on him herself because he is taking far too long. 

Yet its possible watching him, the object of her deepest desires and fervent fantasies, struggle to wrap some latex around his dick because he's too far gone with desire for her is what is sending her closer to the cliff.

It’s possible the mental image combined with actuality is what forces her to reach for her own clit, just for some relief. 

He smirks, "you could help me, you know?"

"As if that wouldn't make it worse," she grins, stroking herself.

She doesn't know what she's expecting in response, except that it isn't what she gets. 

He mostly just laughs, "I promise I'm normally not this addled. It's just… I'm a little overwhelmed."

Rafael Barba, a man who once gave an assassin his home address, overwhelmed by apparently little old her? Its enough to stop her in her tracks. 

"If it helps you don't need one," she offers.

He goes a bit slack. "Liv-"

"I mean, I'm clean and there's no chance of pregnancy so unless you've been having wild orgies or something I think we're good."

His face softens. Great. This is exactly why she didn't want to tell him now. He has a tendency to get all schmoopy and she mostly just wants an orgasm. 

"Liv-"

"Please don't ask me if I'm sure."

"That's not-"

"You're supposed to make a joke about wild orgies."

He stares at her, deep and longing and nowhere near pity. As if what he's really concerned about is that she bore that kind of pain without telling him. That even though he had already put the facts together, it still moves him. 

She really shouldn't have told him in this moment. The way he's looking at her is making her fall in love with him all over again and she really doesn't need that. She needs an orgasm. She needs him giving her that orgasm. Preferably inside of her with no barriers.

What she really needs is him. Full stop. 

He's not going to make a deal out of it, but he's also not going to joke. Instead, he puts the foil packet back on the nightstand. 

He leans over her, cupping her jaw, forcing her to look him in the eyes. He doesn't have to say it. She can't believe she hasn't seen it before tonight. 

He does anyway.

"I love you," he states, running his free hand between them to find her apex. As if she needs more stimulation at this point.

"I love you, too," she smiles, grabbing the back of his neck. He really likes hearing that, and she can feel it. 

And when he finally thrusts inside of her, she feels the need to confirm it a few more times. Affirmations about his girth and size, directions in the form of swearing, encouragements that sound more like grunts and moans, and, finally, one long sigh that is really just his name. 

Yeah, waiting this long was dumb and probably more than a bit stubborn, but fuck if he isn't worth it. 

* * *

"So," he murmurs, running his fingers along her spine, "you really wanna do this?" 

Do what? She thinks. Date you, love you, marry you? Yes. As if she had a choice. As if she would have chosen anyone else if she did.

"I think we already did," she snarks, feeling him deflate. 

Of course he's trying to be genuine. 

"I meant that I will take it back if you need me to."

There's something so matter-of-fact in his tone, so assured of her answer, that it sets her into a full-scale panic. 

The ring. The too expensive, real nice diamond Cap, everything she's ever wanted, ring on her finger. 

How dare he? How dare he let her profess her undying love and give her that kind of attention and still think she doesn't want it. Him.

How dare he offer her everything she's ever wanted in one package - a best friend, someone who loves her completely, a family - and then give her the option to throw it away.

How dare he give her what he thinks she wants even if it causes him pain.

"I thought I was pretty clear how I feel about you, Rafa." She tightens her grip at his waist, afraid to look up lest he disappear.

He sighs, "that doesn't mean you want to marry me."

She forces herself to look in his eyes, to wrap herself around him so tightly that he can never run away. 

"Yes, it does," she assures him, running her thumb along his cheek. "Though I could use that steak dinner."

He grins, "how about Thursday, after I talk Felipe out of putting it in the paper."

"I'd be okay with it in the paper," she smirks, running her nails against his chest. She'd kind of be okay if she had to sit through an interrogation about it at this point.

"Including the contract?" 

"The contract that proves we were blindingly in love and didn't realize it for several years? Bring it on."

"I'm more afraid he wants me to run for DA."

"You're not running for DA."

"Hey, maybe if I sic you on him he'll agree to get off my back."

"Speaking of," she grins, "why don't you get on yours so we can take care of that situation between your legs?"

"Yes ma'am."

It’s only later, after they’ve definitely remedied the situation in multiple ways, that she realizes she’s left the ring box on his coffee table. So he offers her a sweatshirt to wear as they gather her discarded clothes. 

Then he slides the ring back on her finger.  Just where it always should have been. Just where he always should have put it. 

When she’s starting to fall asleep - nestled within his arms, it catches her eye. There’s something about it, gleaming in the dim lamplight against his chest, that she can’t help staring at.

It is the perfect ring, sure, but it’s more about who gave it to her and why.

He’s right. She’s keeping it forever. 

She’s keeping him forever.

* * *

"Hello Miss Olivia,” Felipe grins as he enters her office. He doesn’t miss a beat and she wouldn’t expect him to. Except he doesn’t seem surprised when he gestures to the hand that still houses the ring she professed not to want just yesterday, “I can place this in the paper now, sí?"

It’s not entirely a question. 

"As if you haven't already,” she rolls her eyes. 

He frowns, like he’d been attempting a good deed and now wants credit, "I am asking for permission,"

"Rafael is not running for District Attorney, regardless of what you do or do not place in the New York Times.”

His mouth flips back into a smile. A calculating smile. As if this is what he wanted all along. She’s not sure she wants to know what trap she’s in now.

"¡No me diga!"

"You’re telling me all it would have taken for you to accept he is not running was for me to tell you and not him?” she asks.

"No,” he admits, shaking his head lightly. “Then again, I never actually wanted him to run for DA. We'll talk. You two go plan your wedding."

“Do you promise you won’t go rifling around anyone’s drawers,” she counters.

“Do you promise not to threaten me?”

That isn’t a response to her question and he knows it. She’s also just realized that he will never make a promise he doesn’t intend to keep. 

Fucking Felipe.

* * *

And thus Olivia Benson married Rafael Barba on a Thursday at the courthouse between cases. They didn't care if anyone knew but, somehow an announcement was placed in The Times. Much too late, but somehow right on time. 

True to his word, it was only after the wedding that Felipe Dominguez announced what he really wanted. It was also something they could get behind. He just had to win the Galledras case to put the plan in motion.

Olivia had no doubt he would.

Rafael Barba was to run for Public Advocate of New York City. It was an office in which he could do the most good with the least amount of political trade-off. At least that was the bill of goods they were sold and were choosing to take. 

There was no solving the problem of Felipe Dominguez. There was no solving the problem of the ring.

In fact, now that she has a clearer picture, neither was that much of a problem in the end. 

She never saw herself as anyone’s wife, really, but she got her family. She got the unconditional love she always craved.

Sometimes, things do work out in the end. Sometimes, stupid decisions do mean a lot and your nemesis becomes your friend.

Sometimes you actually do get to marry the man of your dreams and still keep him as your best friend. Once in a while you fall in love with a hero and he thinks you’re one right back.

She refuses to frame the piece of paper. That’s sentimental and romantic and they are neither of those things She does keep it, though, filed away in their closet. 

What she has framed is Noah’s adoption paperwork. 

That’s the day she gets everything she ever wanted - in writing. Even though she realizes she had that family for a very long time. 

Sometimes wishing really does make it so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't have more scenes between where the first part ends and the second begins -- at a certain point I just needed to resolve and post this. The original request was about the her getting angry over him giving her jewelry and them resolving it and that's what I wanted to write. It hope it works.


End file.
